


The Last Destination

by dimeliora



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-07
Updated: 2013-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-10 20:51:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2039679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimeliora/pseuds/dimeliora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And then one morning Sam wakes up to find the end of everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Destination

**Author's Note:**

> You should listen to this. I wrote this entire story in a fever to it. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5bF-8cCCNoY

The morning they wake up to find the world is gone starts like any other. Sam wakes before Dean, and heads for the bathroom. The water is tepid instead of hot, and he grumbles angrily at the lack of quality in these tiny motels as he tries to lather quickly and get out before tepid becomes cold. Nothing worse than trying to dry off with one of those ratty little rags they call towels while dripping in freezing cold water. Sam’s had too much experience with that.

Instead of waking Dean he engages the coffee machine, because his brother wakes up better to the gurgling sound and the smell then he does a shake, and then Sam opens his laptop and checks his email. Nothing new in his inbox since yesterday evening and that’s when things start to get weird.

The death of print media may be a thing to mourn for some, but Sam loves internet news sources. They offer information much faster and in a way that is infinitely easier to search. He wonders if Ash had lived if maybe they could have worked together on some kind of national database. It’s a question he ponders a lot, and today it gets interrupted by the fact that there’re no updates since 11:59 the previous night.

He checks the locals first, moves on to the AP and the national wire, and then starts looking at international sources. The BBC is empty of updates, Al-Jazeera doesn’t have anything, and the timestamps all indicate that at 11:59 CDT the news stopped happening.

Sam jumps about a foot when Dean sleepily grumbles behind him, “What’s up?”

There’s silence for a moment as Dean reaches over his shoulder and sorts through his tabs, and his brother may be half-asleep but he’s quicker than Sam was. There’s no hesitation and no consideration before Dean is slipping his boots on and stepping outside in only his sleep pants with a gun in one hand and a mug in the other.

For a second Sam looks helplessly at the laptop before he follows Dean outside. There are cars in the lot of the little motel still, but Sam finds Dean standing in the empty lobby looking at the desk with the can of Dr. Pepper on it and a porn mag open to a seedy looking woman’s tits. Dean steps around the counter, calls out once, and then starts grabbing keys off the rack.

They go through all the rooms, and while they find signs of life they find no actual life. It only gets weirder from there. The 24/7 diner down the road is empty, but there’s burnt food on the still running grill and coffee searing in the pot. The bar is empty and there are half-full glasses and bottles of beer everywhere. The two of them move silently through the buildings, methodically checking every corner and potential hiding place hoping for something. Anything.

What they find are a variety of confused house pets, a lot of indicators that people were busy at 11:59, but no people and nothing to explain where they went. Finally the cold and the realization that they’re getting nowhere seems to set in and they head back to the motel. Dean reaches out at some point and grabs Sam’s wrist, his fingers finding Sam’s pulse unerringly and pressing against it as he maneuvers the Impala with his free hand. When they get to the motel Dean doesn’t let him go.

Instead they enter the room like that, and when Dean finally releases him it’s so he can change into real clothes and pack up their stuff. They get back in the car, and ride out into the silent landscape.

\---

Denver is empty. It’s just like the little city they fled in the first place, and Sam finds himself religiously opening doors and back yard gates so that dogs and cats can get out. He doesn’t count them, but the does release 64 birds, 13 snakes, and 48 hamsters and gerbils. He’s not even sure they can live in the wild, but they need a chance. Everything deserves a chance right?

Sam doesn’t know how hard it’s hit him until he looks up to see Dean crouched in front of him silently watching as Sam cradles another hamster in his hands on the front stoop of a house with three rooms painted up for little girls. Little girls that aren’t there anymore, and won’t be cleaning the pine chips in the bottom of their hamster’s cage.

They haven’t spoken since they woke up that morning, since Dean asked what was up and Sam’s voice cracks when he finally finds the words he wants to say. “His name is Harold.”

Dean reaches out silently and brushes the tears off of Sam’s face. Sam didn’t even know he was crying. His brother disappears into the house, and then comes back with the plastic cage and a huge bag of hamster food. He takes the tiny rodent out of Sam’s big hands and tucks it gently into the cage before placing the whole thing into the back seat of the Impala. The he comes back and wraps both his arms around Sam and pulls him in to a tight hug.

Sam cries for a while. Cries for the three little princesses who will never see their back yard castle and pink beds again, for the pets that probably won’t make it out in the empty world Sam sent them to, and for himself and Dean. The last two people on the planet.

What are they supposed to do?

\---

It’s not just people that have disappeared. There’s no sign of any supernatural activity whatsoever. They look for anything from ghouls to ghosts and find nothing at all. Even places that are traditionally haunted end up silent as the grave. The power grids stop functioning a little after a week, and Sam props his laptop on the side of the highway they’re on and then lights a little candle beside it before they drive away.

He’s not sure what he’s memorializing, but whatever it is Dean doesn’t tease him. The light, the laughter has gone out of his brother’s tone. His eyes are serious and considering all the time, and the two of them talk so rarely that Sam can count on one hand the instances they’ve gone above three words. They don’t discuss the possibilities, they don’t rationalize the problem, and they don’t question where the world has gone.

Instead they move from place to place with Harold in the back seat as they try to find one sign of anything else alive or dead. It’s not successful. The cell towers are down, they have to siphon all their gas, and good food is becoming more difficult to procure.

The world consists of animals, plants, and the Winchesters.

Sam’s gotten used to the new Dean. To the silence, to the grave aspect of his face, but most importantly to the touching. Where their banter has disappeared it’s been replaced by Dean needing to constantly touch Sam. It starts with Dean checking his pulse, but after a week Dean starts reaching out and holding Sam’s hand. From there it becomes Dean’s grip on his shoulder or thigh, and somehow they start sleeping in the same bed. One night when Sam can’t sleep he witnesses Dean waking up gasping before reaching desperately over to touch Sam’s face. To run his hands all over Sam before he settles back into the pillows with his fingers entwined with Sam’s.

If he knows that Sam’s awake when he does it he doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t try for more contact. Instead Sam stays perfectly still until he’s sure Dean is sleeping peacefully again and then eventually he drops off too.

\---

Three months of wandering and there’s no sign of anything or anyone. No explanation. Sam suspects that Dean has been calling on Cas or anything else he could try for, and that this also has brought nothing but silence. Sam doesn’t ask though. Instead he starts to look, and he finally finds what he wants.

They go north, past Traverse City and up the bridge until they’re in the parts of Michigan that could qualify as Canada. Sam picks the cabin, modest with one loft bedroom and a sauna that works off an old wood burning stove, and he points out to Dean that the lake is famous for its good fishing and that the woods are full of game. Dean nods seriously and then checks the liquor cabinet before dropping onto the couch and propping his feet onto the coffee table.

Sam comes to him without being asked, and when he sits down he settles into Dean’s side.

Much like the end of the world, they never discuss this sudden intimacy. It’s just there. They’re not snuggling so much as holding on. Sam personally thinks that the end of the world is bearable as long as Dean’s still in it.

\---

Six months after the world ends Dean brings out a bottle of Scotch the previous owners left behind and pours them both a glass. Despite his proprietary check when they arrived his brother hasn’t drank since the people disappeared. It seems like they’ll change that tonight. Sam builds a fire in the old stove and cooks fish while Dean starts in on the booze. When the meal is ready they eat in companionable silence and drink together. The nights are still chilly even if it is summer and they end up on the end of the dock drinking from the bottle and pressed together under a blanket.

Dean finally proposes an idea. “Mass exodus due to a bad smell. You finally had one too many bean burritos and the people just couldn’t take it Sam.”

Sam looks over at Dean’s super serious face, the way he’s tilting the Scotch bottle to his unsmiling lips, and picks up on the crinkles at the corner of his brother’s eyes. Dean’s never been able to suppress those.

“Advanced syphilis. If only you’d slept with fewer women.” Sam accepts the bottle and drinks before passing it back.

“Suffocation. All that hair you shed covered their faces and just absorbed them.” Dean takes a long pull and when he passes the bottle back he links their fingers and Sam holds on.

“That doesn’t even make sense. Exsanguination. You went on a paranoid killing spree and then buried all the bodies.”

Dean flexes his biceps and Sam makes a noise at him when the blanket slips off before Dean resettles it and rolls his eyes. “I am strong enough. Curse. You slept with all of them.”

Sam makes another noise, this time disapproving, and Dean soothes the sting with a slide of his free hand through Sam’s hair. It’s comfortable, easy, and so natural Sam can’t remember a time they didn’t touch like this.

“Jealousy. They saw what a pretty princess you were and just walked into the ocean ‘cause they never had a chance.”

His brother raises an eyebrow and then takes a small bow. “Sounds about right. For you. I am all man Sammy, and if it was about me it woulda been penis envy.”

“Could we, just for once, not bring this back to your dick.” Sam goes to drink from the Scotch and realizes it’s empty.

“Everything is about my dick.” Dean takes the bottle, frowns once, and then drops it beside them on the wood planks before settling further into the blanket and Sam. “It’s not my fault you wasted all your growth on height.”

“Dean if everybody on earth took off because of your dickishness I’d buy it, but your dick in specific? Not believing that one.” His hand tightens around Dean’s as he slumps low enough to put his head on Dean’s shoulder.

His brother laughs once, throaty and full, and then Sam feels lips press so quickly and softly against the crown of his head he’s pretty sure he imagined it. “Guess the point Sammy is that I don’t think this one is our fault.”

Sam considers that for a long moment. Did he think it was their fault?

Of course he did. But here, under the sky so full of stars he can see the cloudy impression of the Milky Way, and Dean speaking in his best big brother voice…well Sam can believe him. Just like he believed every one of Dean’s stories and promises when he was a little boy. Every crazy story Dean made up about princes and foreign lands, Transformers mixing with dinosaurs and spacemen, and every time Dean told him life would get better. Every time Dean told him that it would always be the two of them.

Maybe losing the rest of the world isn’t so bad. Dean certainly kept the last promise.

\---

It evolves the way Sam thought it couldn’t. They fish together, hunt together, and they carve out a life. This is it now, and Sam stops searching through books they picked up for answers. Instead he embraces everything they’ve built and believes in a world that is just for the two of them.

Then one night Dean makes a joke about re-populating the earth. Sam laughs, because he’s supposed to, and he punches Dean in the shoulder for the same reason. Still there’s a glint in Dean’s eyes that he doesn’t miss. A question under the joke that Sam isn’t quite ready to answer. Is it him, or is it because he’s the last man on earth? He doesn’t ask, and for once Dean doesn’t see into him closely enough to know.

\---

They leave the cabin long enough to head for a store. Sam’s digging through seed packets to find the kinds of vegetables he wants when there’s a loud crash behind him. He spins around gripping the zucchini packet so tightly it splits and bursts, and the deer standing a foot away seems unbothered that it was the last packet on the shelf.

For a moment all Sam can do is stare. Stare and breathe, and wonder if this is what it was like for people that weren’t raised to expect crashes and things coming out of nowhere. If this is what he would have done if he was normal. The thought goes away when there’s a loud boom and the deer jerks once before falling. Dean steps into Sam’s view and considers it for a long time before looking up at Sam.

“Steak tonight?” There’s something dark and heavy in Dean’s eyes, and Sam wonders. Wonders if he made a sound, if Dean came running because of that, and if for just a moment it seemed like everything was back to pre-world-ending normal.

Dean bitches for fifteen minutes when Sam drops the deer’s leg too fast and the hoof scratches his paint job.

\---

Two weeks after the deer and the home improvement store Sam is on his knees in his little makeshift garden carefully watering the patch that will hopefully become tomatoes. He hears a sound behind him and looks over his shoulder to see Dean standing shirtless with fish hanging from one hand and the rod and tackle box in the other. Dean grins broadly and raises an eyebrow as Sam wipes at the sweat on his forehead.

“Hey Sam, know what you call a donkey with a thousand heads and legs?”

Sam takes a moment to consider that if he kills Dean he will be all alone in the world. “I don’t know Dean what do you call it?”

“A monster.” Dean doesn’t laugh at his own bad joke. He just watches Sam’s sour face and then nods thoughtfully. “There’s the expression I’ve been missing.”

With that his lunatic of a brother walks away. Dean spends the rest of the night and the next few days making terrible jokes, bringing up old stories, and just generally being a pain in Sam’s ass.

It’s wonderful.

\---

It takes a year. A year of quiet conversations, gentle contact, and inane jokes for Sam to finally get it. To really understand what’s happening between the two of them. He has to give Dean points for being so incredibly patient with him.

He deducts them when Dean finally throws his hands up and narrows his eyes. “Sammy I’m about done trying to make you see me. You want to do this or not? I just need an answer man.”

Sam looks at Dean for a long time as the late afternoon sun filters in through the big picture window and lights up the golden glints in his brother’s hair. They’ve both gotten tougher in the last year, a little leaner and maybe more callused, but Dean is ultimately still Dean. Still the same brother that raised him, that sold his soul for him, and never ever left him.

“You only want me because I’m the last man on earth.” It’s said jokingly, but Sam’s honestly still a little afraid it’s true. Dean’s look of disbelief puts his fear to bed.

“What are you talking about? Harold’s right there.”

Sam can’t help the noise that leaves him, or the way he buries it in Dean’s mouth as he surges upwards and presses their lips together. The two of them stay that way for a long time; standing in the center of the living room as the fire roars and their lips slide slick and soft against each other. Dean tastes good, better than Sam thought he would, and he just wishes there could be more. So much more.

They lead each other to the couch, because it’ll be another hour or so before the heat from the fire reaches the little loft bedroom. Dean takes his time removing Sam’s clothes, piece by piece, and when it’s done he stares at Sam as if he’s just been given a pie buffet. A pink tongue slides out to caress equally pink lips before Dean leans forward and tastes Sam’s collarbone.

The mouth that has called him a bitch a million times over the years strokes along his skin, tastes his nipples and curls up when Sam moans helplessly, moves in a heated line down and down until it stops at the sharp cut of his hipbone. Sam arches up begging for friction against his hard and leaking cock, but Dean ignores him and continues to lave his hipbones with that wicked tongue.

“Get to the main event or I’ll leave asshole.” Dean’s eyes cut up to him, gold and green mixed with blown-out pupils, and then Dean runs those rough hands along the skin of Sam’s calves and up to his thighs. Sam keens when Dean pulls his ass to the edge of the couch and spreads him. He’ll never let Dean refer to the noise that way, but if he’s honest that’s what it was.

Dean still doesn’t give his cock any attention though. Instead he bypasses it entirely and licks along Sam’s balls before dipping down to his taint. The pressure and slick texture make Sam reach down to grab Dean’s hair, and he grips tight while his brother licks and licks away at him. He’s never had anyone’s tongue there, and he wonders what Dean-

There’s no way to be dignified after the tiny shriek that escapes him when Dean’s tongue dips down and strokes across his asshole. Instead he hates his brother with his last functioning brain cell when Dean chuckles lowly and then everything is focused on how Dean is eating him out. Sam’s right hand tries to claw the couch apart as his left one pushes Dean further into him.

Over and over again that tongue circles the rim, dips inside, and the pleasure’s so intense when fingers join it Sam doesn’t even feel the burn until Dean’s up to three. He pulls and gasps, begging Dean to slow down, and then he’s begging him to stop. Words make their broken way out of his mouth and into the cool air around them. “Dean please I-fuck man if-please stop before I fucking come.”

Dean pulls up then, licks the fingers he just took out of Sam’s ass, and then spits on his hand before slicking himself up. It shouldn’t be hot. It should be gross and unsanitary and a million other things that should turn Sam off. Instead the visual makes him have to grip the base of his cock to stave off his orgasm, and Dean doesn’t miss that.

“You want me to fuck you that bad baby? Want my big cock in you? Or you want me to go back down and keep eating you? Getting you all slick and wet for me ‘til you shoot your load and then I fuck you limp and sated?”

Sam moans helplessly, makes grabby hands, and Dean takes the hint that teasing should only go so far. It’s the first time in their entire lives Dean takes that hint.

He pushes in slow; the big blunt head of his cock pressing Sam open before it pushes past the initial resistance and makes its way inside. Sam groans helplessly, hips rocking slightly to push Dean further in as his fingers scrabble against his brother’s sweaty back. “That’s it sweetheart, that’s it, just relax.” Dean’s voice is soothing as his hands make their way up and down Sam’s sides.

Eventually he’s in to the base, and Sam finally finds the traction his mouth needs to make words instead of breathless pleas. “Stop calling me names and fuck me Dean.”

Dean’s lips curl again, sinful and sweet, and then he’s kissing Sam as he starts to pull out. The friction is sweet and painful, but Sam loves every second of it. It gets easier with time. Sam hooks his legs around Dean’s waist and licks his own taste out of Dean’s mouth as his brother fucks steadily into him.

The pace picks up, and with every thrust the head of Sam’s cock leaves a trail along Dean’s stomach and gives him just enough friction to be constantly on the edge. Then Dean frowns against his mouth, angles his hips and Sam gets to feel his brother’s cockhead brush his prostate as his own rubs against Dean’s abs.

“Yes. Yesyesyes. Just like that, fuck please Dean, just like that. Don’t stop that.”

For once Dean puts his mouth to good use and goes back to kissing Sam even as he keeps pegging that spot over and over again. Eventually it’s too much, and Sam sinks his fingers into the muscles in Dean’s shoulders as he hits the edge and then dives over it. He’s coming, splattering against his chest and Dean’s, and Dean is right behind him. He feels the wet gush inside him, the way Dean’s dick spasms, and knows if he had held out a little longer that’s what would have pushed him over the edge.

Afterwards Dean is careful, considerate, and it’s not what Sam was expecting at all. They end up curled together on the couch with the fire roaring and a thick blanket draped over them. Slowly, hesitantly, Dean begins to sing. Sam tries to turn around to see him, but the grip Dean has around his stomach tightens to painful levels for just a moment before relaxing. Sam gets the hint.

“You say you'll give me a highway with no one on it/ A treasure just to look upon it/All the riches in the night.” Dean’s voice is husky, soft, and Sam relaxes back into his grip and tries to just listen. Dean has always been such a good singer.

“You say you'll give me eyes in a world of blindness/ A river in a time of dryness/ A harbor in the tempest.” It takes Sam a second to recognize the song, and when he does his eyes go a little misty although he’ll never admit it. He doubts Dean is much better off as that husky voice heads into the chorus.

“But all the promises we make/ From the cradle to the grave/When all I want is you.”

For a moment Sam considers making a joke as silence descends on them. Then, in the way that he often picks up the unstated threats in Dean’s personality, he realizes that if he does that it won’t be more of the usual. This is something else, and Sam knows it. Knows that a joke right now will shatter this, and they’ll never have it again. Instead he digs through his memory until he finds the next verse.

His voice isn’t as good as Dean’s, but he figures his brother will forgive him. “You say you want your love to work out right / To last with me through the night.” Lips brush against the back of his head, and the arms around him tighten once gently before a hand strokes lazily along his ribs.

“You say you want diamonds on a ring of gold / Your story to remain untold / Your love not to grow cold.” Sam takes Dean’s hand in his and squeezes it once, and tries to remember what they were doing at 11:59. What they must have done.

“All the promises we break / From the cradle to the grave / When all I want is you.” Maybe the world ended. Moved on like in Stephen King’s Dark Tower. Maybe they died. One thing seems far more likely than the other, although for the life of him Sam can’t remember what they would have been doing to die together.

All he knows is that this is what he wants. What he’s maybe always wanted a little bit. That here in the flickering firelight after a lifetime of wandering he’s found his last destination.

**Author's Note:**

> There's a big question here and it has no answer. Well it had an answer, and I took that answer out. There are five people in the world who know that answer now, and Dean. We're not telling, because we collectively agreed that some things are better left to the reader than to the crummy author.


End file.
